


Breathe me

by Chalichi



Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Child Abuse, Comforting Jesus (Walking Dead), Homophobic Language, M/M, Self-Esteem Issues, Slow Build, Slow Burn, nothing to descriptive
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-10
Updated: 2017-08-10
Packaged: 2018-08-30 03:56:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8517616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chalichi/pseuds/Chalichi
Summary: Daryl is trying hard to turn his life around so he won't end up like his brother.He's having some troubles with himself since his childhood, some scars go deeper than than the ones you can see. One night he meets a very special librarian. Will this librarian be able to help him?(May change this summary later on)





	1. In the head of a redneck

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This idea just jumped me out of the blue, and I wanted to write it down to see where it will lead me! 
> 
> This chapter is more of a walk trough of Daryl's childhood. I wanted to give him a full backstory in this fic. 
> 
> This chapter contains child abuse, but it isn't described in much detail at all. 
> 
> I really hope you will like it!

In the head of a redneck

Daryl could say many things about his childhood, but being loved wasn't one of them. 

They had been a normal happy family at first, sure they had been poor, but happy.  
But by the time he turned five something changed. His mother had lost the light in his eyes and his father could be found by the tv, sitting in his armchair with a beer in his hand. 

It had just escalated from there. His father started to argue a lot with his older brother, about really small things like, not picking up his toys or closing the door to loud.  
The arguing turned to slaps in the face, and the slaps turned to straight up beating sessions.  
Their mother had gone between them at first, but then he'd just go at her too. 

Their father didn't go after Daryl at first. He did get yelled at a lot, but his father hadn't laid a hand on him.  
It didn't happen until a few years later.

Daryl was in the kitchen, making himself a sandwich. His mother was out somewhere and Merle had gone out with a friend, so it was just him and his father at home.  
Daryl was reaching for a jar of jam in the fridge. It was on the top shelf so he had to stand on his toes and really stretch for it to be able to reach it.  
Somehow he lost the grip of it and the jar fell to the floor with a loud crash.  
The jar split to pieces with shards of glass and jam flying everywhere on the kitchen floor. 

“What the hell was that!?” Came his fathers thundering voice from the living room. 

Daryl felt his heart fly up to his throat and he panicked.  
He searched frantically for something to clean the mess up with, and saw a towel hanging from a hook by the stove. He took it and started to clean the mess up. He managed to cut himself on one particular sharp shard, staining the already messy floor with his blood too.

“Answer me boy!” His father shouted.  
Daryl started to hyperventilate, frantically trying to clean up the jam, only managing to smear it out more on the floor. 

“God dammit!” He heard his father growl. Then he heard heavy footsteps walking towards the kitchen.  
Daryl stopped breathing when his father came into view.  
Bloodshot eyes and the same stained t-shirt he'd been warning for at least three weeks. He reeked of old beer and cigarettes. 

“When I tell ya to answer me, ya answer!” He's father roared at him. “What tha hell have ya done ya damned whelp!” 

Daryl looked down at the mess then up at his father.  
He began to open his mouth to tell him he was sorry when the first struck came.  
He slapped him with a open palm across his face.  
Daryl was in shock.  
He's hand went up to his cheek by it self, it felt warm and stung something awful. He felt tears well up in his eyes and tried to blink them away. 

“What re’ ya cryin’ about ya fucken baby! I'll give ya somethin’ ta cry about!”

He lifted Daryl up in the air by the collar of his shirt and tossed him like a rag doll across the kitchen, hitting the back of his head hard on the wall on the other side of the kitchen.  
He's father walked over to him and struck him two more times across the face, muttering at him about being a “worthless waste of space” before walking out of the room, leaving Daryl on the floor with a busted lip and what felt like a light concussion.

******

As the years went on the abuse grew worse. Merle spent as little time as he could at home, leaving the house at the brink of dawn and coming home in the middle of the night.  
Daryl understood why he did it, but he hated him for it at the same time, because that made Daryl a easy target for their fathers fists.

Their mother had completely given up on everything and had turned to drink just as much, if not even more than their father did.  
She didn't even try to step in whenever their father came up with something he could beat his kids over. Choosing to either sit and watch with empty eyes or walk into another room.  
That made Daryl hate her more than he hated his father. 

The abuse wasn't just at home. Since his father had beaten away any amount of self-confidence he had in his body, he wasn't that good at making any friends.  
He was bullied a lot all the way through middle and high school.  
He mostly tried to avoid to interact with anyone, he hung around in the back of the class, walked out last and ate his lunch – whenever he had brought some – in one of the bathroom stalls.  
But even if he desperately tried to hide in the shadows there were always a smart ass who picked on him, tossing him around and called him stupid or ugly. 

One of the more popular kids had even got as far as calling him a “fucking faggot” when he'd cached Daryl looking at him.  
He'd banged Daryl up pretty bad, leaving him with a bloody nose and a fractured collarbone.

He never got good grades, since he didn't do his homework most of the time and he couldn't concentrate to good in class. Since he wasn't planning on going to college he didn't see the point in actually going to school at all. When he was about fifteen or sixteen he started to follow Merle around wherever he went. Merle thought him how to hunt using both crossbow and a rifle. He started to hang out with Merle's friends more and more. That was for him both a blessing and a curse.  
Spending time with them meant not having to be at home where his father was. But it meant have to hand around people using various drugs and being drunk off his ass more often than not. 

 ******

The remaining time of his late teen years were a haze of drugs, alcohol and sex on some rare occasions.  
The few times he woke up with some random chick beside him he'd take one glance at the girl, the thought about what they had done leaving him feeling so sick to his stomach that he had to bolt into the bathroom throwing his guts out. He always blamed it on having a hangover, because what else could it be?  
Was there something wrong with him? Because he almost never threw up, no matter how hung over he was.  
The last time it happened he felt more than a little confused about why he's body reacted the way it did, he made an agreement with himself. He wouldn't drink more than he could handle, that way he wouldn't end up naked in bed with another girl. 

Merle and Daryl ended up scoring a shitty one roomed apartment. The apartment was a real dump, but they had officially moved away from “home” and that was good enough for both of them. The rent was cheep, and Merle made enough money dealing drugs to pay it. Daryl were actually beginning to feel good. 

But like most things, good things never lasts.  
Especially when your name is Daryl Dixon.  
Just a few months after they'd moved into the apartment Merle got a phone call.  
Both their parents had died.  
Apparently their mother had snapped, taking their fathers hunting rifle she had shot their father in the head. Then herself.

They both had gone down to the morgue to identify their parents.  
Even though he absolutely hated his parents he felt a strange loss by knowing they were actually gone.  
He didn't miss them, but in the same time he did.

Another few months passed, and just as he'd moved past the knowledge about his parents murder/suicide he got another blow to the face. 

A loud pounding at the door woke him up at the middle of the night.  
Merle was out and had been for almost two days.  
He used to be away for days at the time so Daryl didn't think much of it.  
But as he walked towards the door he got a sinking feeling in his gut.  
Something was wrong. 

When he opened the door he was greeted by two police officers.  
Daryl started to hyperventilate by the sight of them.  
One of the officers introduced himself as officer Martinez, he said that his brother had been caught selling drugs to minors and had been taken to custody.  
He said he was facing quite a few years of prison time.  
Daryl had a hard time letting that sink in. He knew Merle had been caught on a few occasions in his teens, but he'd been good at keeping himself under the radar since then.  
Apparently not good enough. 

****** 

When Merle's sentence came a few weeks after he'd been caught, Daryl started to think through what options he had left. He could either follow in Merle's footsteps, or he could try to turn his life around.


	2. Awkward meetings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The real story begins here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is sort of where the real story takes place.

Awkward meetings 

Daryl sighed deeply as he looked at the email he'd got from his teacher.   
He had literally just gotten home from his shift at the restaurant he was working in. His main job was handling the meat, he was covered in sweat and there was patches of dried blood on his face and arms.   
All he really wanted to do was to take a shower, but his teacher had called him in the middle of his shift telling him that he had to read the mail she'd sent him over a week ago! 

He'd come a long way since Merle ended up in the slammer.   
He'd got a decent job at the restaurant, he worked mostly by himself which suited him just fine, and he'd even started studying in the evenings. He was studying from home on his computer, knowing he couldn't handle being cooped up in a classroom ever again but knowing he wouldn't find a job out there without a high school degree of sorts this was the next best thing.  
And it was working ok for him so far. 

“Son of a bitch!” He said reading through the mail his teacher had sent him. 

It said he would have to write an four page article about famous poets.  
And he didn't know the first thing about poets or poetry for that matter.   
It was due in less than a week.  
Since he'd waisted one week already by sheer laziness. 

Groaning in annoyance he walked away from the old laptop on his coffee table and headed for the bathroom. He really needed a shower before heading out to the library. 

Yes, he had a computer, but the old thing worked slower than a snail with narcolepsy, so he searched his information the old fashioned way. Reading tons and tons of books! 

He started the shower and tested the water before he undressed and hopped in, letting the rays of hot water calm him down a bit.   
It had been a rather stressful day at work today, and the renewed pressure from his teachers mail didn't make it any better.   
He was thirty five fucking yeas old, and he worried over homework!   
That thought alone made him laugh a little at himself. 

Once he felt clean enough he shut the water off and climbed out of the shower.   
He gabbed a towel and dried his hair before quickly drying the rest of his body.   
He glanced at himself in the mirror, wet strands of dark brown hair were clinging to his neck and face. He looked tired, the lack of sleep the past weeks were taking its toll on him now. Come to think of it, he hadn't had a decent night sleep in ages, and it was really starting to wear him down.   
He grimaced at his reflection before he walked out off the bathroom and strode towards his bedroom to find some fresh clothes. 

After digging out a pair of boxers, black jeans and a dark gray t-shirt he got dressed quickly.  
After putting his boots on he grabbed his leather jacket before closing and locking the door, then walked out off the building. 

******

It was starting to go dark outside and it was quite chilly, he regretted that he didn't though of putting on a hoodie under his jacket, but he didn't want turn around now, feeling like if he did that he would've walk straight to bed and fall asleep.He couldn't afford to lose more time than he already had. 

There was a small library not to far from his place, it was open later hours then most libraries. He'd never been there but since it was late and the library he used to go to had closed hours ago he figured he take a look. 

******

Ten minutes later he stood outside the library. It looked like very tiny church, but had huge sign over the entrance that read ‘library’.   
He studied the building for a while before he shrugged and walked inside, hoping the place to be as empty of people as possible. 

He was in luck, the place was empty aside for three homeless people sleeping on a large sofa near the checkout desk.   
He started to look around the place and was astonished by how huge it looked from the inside.   
He started his search the poetry section and walked around the library row by row looking for anything helpful. 

He was deep in his thoughts and wasn't really paying any attention to where he was walking. He got shaken awake when he bumped into something solid and warm.   
“Shit!” He heard the solid and warm object mutter when all the books he'd been carrying fell to the floor. 

Daryl blinked and looked at the person he'd walked into.   
He was shorter and leaner than Daryl, and had long dark blonde hair that fell slightly over his shoulders.   
He wore a white shirt and brown cargo pant.   
When the man turned around he saw that he had a neatly trimmed beard and huge green/blueish eyes. 

He looked at Daryl with a slight frown on his face.   
“You really should pay attention to where your going.” He said before he knelt down and started to pick up the books on the floor. 

“Sorry.” Daryl mumbled and knelt down him to to help the guy. Thinking it was the least he could do considered it was his fault he'd dropped the books in the first place. 

They both stood up and Daryl handed him the books he'd picked up, putting them on the pile the guy had in his arms.  
“Thank you.” He said smiling kindly at Daryl. 

“Don't mention it. Was my fault ya dropped ‘em in tha first place.” He said with a shrug. 

“True.” The guy said. “Do you need any help?” He asked and walked over to a nearby table to put the books down on it. 

“Uh, yea. I think so.” He said. “M’ looking for poetry n’ shit.” 

The guy in front of him gave him a strange look. “Poetry n’ shit? Forgive me if I'm wrong, but you don't look like the kind of guy who's really into that.” 

Daryl frowned at him and folded his arms in a defensive manner.   
“Isn't to late to start, and since ya don't know me, ya have no right tellin’ me what I like or don't.” 

“Absolutely not!” The guy said raising his hands clearly not wanting to argue with him. “Sorry, didn't mean to offend you or anything. Poetry section’s over here. Just follow me and I'll show you.” He said and walked towards the end of the library. 

“Here we are. It's not much but I think we have a descent selection of the best know poets at least. Some works of Shakespeare, Edgar Allan Poe, Oscar Wilde, I even believe there's something of Emily Dickinson somewhere around here.” He said with gesture to the rows of books. 

Daryl looked at him like he was talking in a foreign language. He didn't have the slightest clue to who the people the guy was talking about was.   
He recognized the name Shakespeare, but that was about it. 

“So, are you looking for anything special?” He asked clearly amused about the totally blank facial expression Daryl had. 

“Uhhh..” Was all Daryl cloud muster. He hadn't the slightest clue about what he was looking for. 

“Ok..In all seriousness, why are you looking for poetry? - I'm just asking so I can help you!” He said when he saw a frown forming on Daryl's face again.” 

Daryl sighed and slumped his shoulders.   
“Aight, not that's any of yer business, but I'm looking for it because I have to write about it.” 

The guy nodded at him in understanding. “Like a school thing?” He asked. 

Daryl felt his face heat up in embarrassment. “Yea. Somethin’ like that.” 

The guy nodded again and gestured at Daryl to come closer.   
Daryl walked up and stood beside him and tried to listen to what he talked about, but he had a hard time concentrating on the various names of poets coming out of the lean guys mouth.

He turned his head to look at the guy to study his face, he got caught up in how the guy looked when he talked, his facial expressions, the way his lips moved and how his hands moved with him when he talked.   
It was hypnotic. 

He didn't snap out of it until he noticed the guy had stopped taking and was now staring at him with an amused smirk on his lips.   
“Daydreaming?” He asked amusement laced in his voice. 

Daryl cleared shook his head and cleared his throat. What the hell was up with him?   
“Yea, sorry. Long day.” He said. 

The guys smirk grew wider.   
“Yeah, sovas I was saying, I think you should start with one of these. They're a bit lighter than the rest. That ok with you?” He asked holding out two books for Daryl to take. 

“Yea, sure” he said, not having any idea which books it was, but he didn't care. He felt a strange urge to get away from this guy and go home.

He accepted the books nevertheless, hoping the guy knew what he was talking about.   
When he took the books from him he felt warmth radiating from the guys hands, and he was suddenly very aware about how close they were standing to each other.   
He felt his heart thump hard in his chest and his breath got caught in his throat.   
He felt frozen in place and he had no idea why. 

“Are you ok?” The guy asked him looking concerned. 

Daryl let go of the books and started to back away.   
“I-I have to go.” He stammered and turned around and bolted out of there. 

He thought he could hear the guy calling after him, but he didn't care. He had to get away from there, away from that guy. 

******

When he came home he slammed the door shut in irritation.   
What the actually fuck was that?! What the hell was happening with him?! 

He laid down on the sofa, didn't even bother talking his shoes and jacket off before doing so. He folded his arm over his eyes and sighed.   
It was probably because he was tired.   
He was pretty sure it was because of that. 

******

He woke up about two hours later to someone knocking on his door.   
He sat up on the sofa, feeling momentarily confused before he remembered that he'd falling asleep there after getting home. 

It knocked on the door a second time, louder this time.   
He got up and opened the door to find the guy from the library standing on the other side of the door. 

His heart almost jumped out of his chest at the sight.   
Daryl's first instinct was to slam the door in his face, but the guy put his hand on the door before he could do so. 

“Please wait.” He said. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Daryl hissed at him. 

“You dropped this.” The guy said holding Daryl wallet to him. “Your id was in it so I looked your address up on the computer. Thought you needed it.” 

Daryl hadn't even noticed it was gone. Probably dropped it when he'd bolted out of the library.

“Yea. Thanks.” He said taking the wallet. 

“I called after you, but I guess you didn't hear me.” The guy said, clearly didn't believe that was the case. “I also wanted to give you these.” Handing out a plastic bag to Daryl. 

Daryl took the bag from him and looked inside. In the bag were the books the guy had picked out for him. 

“Thanks again.” Daryl grumbled, feeling a little stupid for running away like that. He felt like he should apologize to the guy, but he didn't know what to say without it sounding stupid. 

“You're welcome. No problem at all.” 

They stood there an stared at each other for a while before the guy cleared his throat and started to move away from the door.  
“Well I guess I should go.” He began to turn around to walk away before he stopped and looked at Daryl again. “My name is Paul by the way. Or Jesus, everybody calls me that.” 

Then he turned away and walked out of the building.


	3. when you have a bad day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl day goes from bad to worse and Jesus talks to Glenn about his stalking ex.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm switching between perspectives in this chapter, an I think I will continue doing so throughout this story. 
> 
> And for anyone who loves Alex and Spencer, I don't hate them by any means. 
> 
> I hope you'll like this chapter!

Daryl had really tried to read through the books the guy who called himself “Jesus” had given him, but nothing had stuck in his mind.  
Mostly because he was unable to concentrate on the text he was reading. Every time he opened the book he'd chosen to read first – the complete tales and poems by Edgar Allan Poe – he saw the face of Jesus in his mind.  
It was driving him completely insane.  
What was it with the guy that made it so impossible for him to shake off? 

With a annoyed growl he threw the book on the coffee table, hearing it land with a thud.  
He leaned back on the sofa, digging his fingers through his shoulder long hair and sighed.  
He glanced on the small clock that was standing by his computer on the coffee table and groaned.  
It was half past seven, and he was supposed to be at work in an half hour.

Sitting up with a huff he glanced at the annoying book once again before getting up and walked out of the room towards the hallway.  
He took his jacket on and walked out off his apartment.

******

“The guy sounds like an ass!” Glenn said. 

Jesus huffed in his coffee almost spilling it over himself.  
“He might be. But there was something about him that I found… I don't know, cute I guess.” 

He'd told his friend, Glenn about the mystery guy that had searched for poetry books and then ran out of the library like people were chasing him with torches. 

“I still can't believe you actually walked to his apartment. He could've been a serial killer for all you know!” Glenn scolded.

Jesus shook his head in amusement. “A hot serial killer!” He laughed. 

Glenn looked at Jesus with gaped mouth. “You're hopeless!” He said. 

Jesus just laughed and got up from his seat in front of Glenn to put his cup away. 

“I'm not THAT hopeless.” Jesus said then. “I just get interested easily.” 

“Yeah! You have Alex to show for that” Glenn said turning to look at him. 

Jesus shoulder sank as he let out a breath and turned to look at Glenn. 

“Did something happened?” Glenn asked.

Jesus looked away and started to gnaw on his bottom lip. 

“Come on, spill. I know that look well enough to know you're hiding something big. What did he do this time?” Glenn said sharply. 

Jesus grimaced, looked over at Glenn and sighed.  
“I.. Eh. He texted me yesterday. Said he was missing me and wanted me to give him a second chance.” 

“You've already given him a second chance! And a third too!” Glenn interrupted. 

“I told him that!” Jesus snapped, making Glenn flinch at his sudden mood change. “Sorry. I told him that.” He said in a softer tone. “He didn't care and went on and on with how sorry he was and how he would change.” 

Jesus dragged his palm across his face and laughed bitterly. 

“What did you respond to that?” Glenn asked softly.

“That he could've though about that before he cheated on me with half of the male population in Atlanta.” 

Glenn huffed a laugh and tried to shield his smile with his hand without succeeding. 

“It's not funny Glenn!” Jesus scolded. 

“No! No, of course not!” Glenn said trying to sober up. “I'm sorry. What happened then?” 

“Well, he called me. Multiple times. Don't worry, I didn't answer!” He said hastily when he saw anger flash in Glenn's eyes. “But he filled my voicemail with lovely stories to listen to! I think I have a weeks worth of ‘please baby take me back, I'm so sorry, I miss you so much’ to go through, if I want.” 

Jesus exhaled, suddenly feeling exhausted. The breakup had taken a lot off him. He had fallen hard and fast for Alex. They had moved in together after two months of dating, he had been happier than ever. There had been rumors about Alex being unfaithful, but every time Jesus had confronted him, Alex had denied it, claiming it to be rumors made up by people who were jealous of him and Jesus. And Jesus had believed him, or had desperately wanted to believe him. The rumors had turned out to be more than true. 

“You should get a restraining order.” Glenn said walking over to stand beside Jesus. “You know, before it goes out of hand. One of these days he will turn violent and you know it. I'm worried about you.” 

Jesus shook his head and looked at the huge clock over the kitchen in the small lunch room, their break were ending in five minutes. 

“I don't know. I really doubt he would hurt me.” He said with little confidence.  
During their six months together there had been some small tendencies of violence from Alex side. He'd never hit Jesus, but he would go off by the smallest things and yell at him for hours, leaving Jesus a broken mess when he stormed out off their apartment. 

“If it gets worse, I will. I promise.” He said looking at Glenn.  
Glenn sighed and nodded. 

“Just – just don't wait to long, ok?” Glenn said looking sternly at Jesus. 

“I won't.”he said and began to walk out off the break room. “Come on, we have to get back. You know Eric will go crazy if we leave him alone with the books for too long!” 

He heard Glenn laugh behind him as they both walked out and went back to work. 

******

“Are you stupid or something?!” Spencer shouted in the face of a young woman. “You got their fucking order wrong! That's the fifth time today Tara!” 

Daryl watched the scene from across the kitchen. Tara had been working there for about three days and was insecure and nervous as hell, and Spencer constant shouting in her face was only making it worse. 

“You're worthless piece of shit, you know that!? You're messing up the easiest task in the whole place! Taking their fucking orders and giving them the right food! Is that too hard for you huh? Is your brain broken or something? Did your mother dropped you as… 

“Hey! Spence! Fucken quit it will ya?” Daryl cut spencer off. He was tired of listening to the sorry pice of shit, and the poor girl was two seconds from breaking down crying. He felt like he couldn't just stand by and watch anymore. 

“What the fuck Dixon?!” Spencer shouted. 

Daryl walked towards him drawing the attention away from the broken down girl towards himself instead.  
He hated being the center of attention, but he was willing to be in it, if it meant Spencer would leave the girl alone. He hated the way Spencer treated his staff. Playing mini boss every time Rick was away. 

“Enough. She hasn't worked here long, takes time to get adjusted to stuff.” Daryl said as calmly as he could. 

“She have messed up five times Dixon! FIVE times!” He bellowed holding out his hand showing off his five fingers making a point. 

“I can count ya asshole!” Daryl shouted back, loosing his temper quickly. 

“Well then you should know it's not acceptable, we're loosing customers if the service is lousy. And I'm not letting this place fall apart because of a fucking girl can't do her job right!” Spencer shouted pointing at Tara. 

Tara was looking down at her feet, sniffling and flinched when Spencer mentioned her name. 

Daryl looked from Tara back at the furious Spencer who looked like he was enjoying the power he had over Tara. 

“Ya sick fuck!” Daryl growled at Spencer, definitely pushing down the urge to punch the fuckers face in. 

“What did you say to me?” He said walking into Daryl's space. “You can loose your job with this behavior. One wrong step and you'll be back at square one!”

Daryl stared Spencer down, his eyes were in thin lines.  
“What would you do without this place huh? I know your history. I know Rick’s only letting you work here because he feels sorry for your sorry ass!” He continued throughly enjoying himself. 

“I think it's best ya shut up now Spencer.” Daryl hissed. 

Spencer took a step back, tilted his head and smirked at him.  
“Or what Dixon? Your really gonna loose your job for this bitch?” He said gesturing to Tara. “Then you're even more stupid than I thought.” 

Daryl had had more than enough. The job be damned. He really didn't care anymore.  
Rick could fire him I he wanted to, this idiotic lunatic really needed to get his ass kicked. Or face bashed in. He really wanted to wipe that smirk off his face. 

He walked towards Spencer and grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and shoved his first into his face two times. Spencer fell to a heap on the floor when Daryl let go of him, screaming bloody murder. 

“Son of a bitch! You'll fucking regret this Dixon!” He shouted an spat blood on the floor. Daryl had given him a bloody nose and a slightly busted upper lip. 

Daryl just walked towards the back exit not even bothering to look back. He figured Rick would call him whenever he heard what had happened.

******

Daryl gad been pacing around the streets for over an hour. He didn't regret punching Spencer in the face, the sucker really deserved it, but he wasn't sure it was worth loosing his job over it.  
Rick hadn't called him yet, he wasn't sure if that was a bad or a good thing.  
Could mean he hadn't heard about it yet, could mean he was to disappointed to even talk to him. 

Daryl sighed deeply as he continued to walk forward.  
After a few more minutes of walking he stopped to look at his surroundings, not being sure where he was anymore.

He almost fainted when he looked up at the church looking library he bolted out off the other night.  
What were the odds for his subconscious mind to take him here, of any places? 

His thoughts drifted away to the guy who called himself Jesus for the millionth time that day.  
He didn't know why he kept thinking about the guy. It was like every time his brain shut off his thoughts wandered off to big green eyes and a big smile, and that really annoyed him. 

Just as he was about to walk away he head his name being called.  
He turned his head and saw Jesus standing by the entrance of the library waving at him. 

******

Jesus scanned in the last book on the ‘returned’ pile and looked at the clock and groaned when he realized his shift ended over an hour ago. 

He logged out of the computer, stood up and stretched out his aching back.  
Glenn walked towards him with a frown on his face. 

“What are you still doing here? I thought you said you had the earlier shift today?!” 

Jesus turned to look at Glenn and stifled a yawn before answering.  
“I did. Just forgot the time. I'm heading home now though.” He said picking up his bag from the floor and started to walk towards the exit. 

“I'll see you tomorrow.” He said waving at Glenn. He opened the door and walked out off the library. 

“Yeah, bye.” He heard Glenn say before the door closed behind him. 

Jesus stood on the steps by the library with his eyes closed, feeling the mild wind caress his tired, hot face. 

He didn't know how long he stood there, just enjoying the silence of the streets.  
But when he finally opened his eyes they landed at a very familiar figure on the sidewalk. 

Debating with himself for a few seconds on whether or not he should call for him. After a while he decided on ‘well, why the hell not?’ 

“Daryl?” 

He saw Daryl turn around quickly and his eyes widened when they landed on him.  
Maybe leaving work later wasn't such a bad thing?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think! :)
> 
> Look me up on Tumblr if you like! username: Chalichi


	4. By poets and poetry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've only just read this though once, so there might be a lot of mistakes in it.   
> I just wanted to continue this one really badly.   
> :)

Jesus started jogging toward him with a slight smile plastered to his face.   
He felt his stomach twist nervously, he had no energy for this today. All he felt like doing right now was to walk home and go to bed, and wake up sometime next week. 

“Hey!” Jesus greeted him when he was standing within normal speaking distance. “How're you doing?” 

“M’ tired.” He said and started to walk in the direction of his apartment. 

“Long day?” Jesus asked and fell into a step behind him. 

“Guess ya could say that” Daryl huffed and thought about the fight he'd had with Spencer and grimaced. 

“Did something happen?” He asked giving him a concerned look. 

“Nah.” Daryl said, not wanting to spill his guts to a person he just met.   
Jesus just nodded and kept on walking beside him.

They walked in silence until Daryl apartment building started to appear in front of them.   
Daryl started to wonder why this guy was walking him home. 

“How's the books I picked out working for you?” Jesus asked him. 

Daryl didn't answer at first. He didn't want to lie to the guy, but at the same time he didn't want to seem like the idiot who didn't know how to understand poetry. 

“If you're having a hard time reading them, I can help you out you know.” Jesus said looking down, almost looking nervous. 

Daryl though about it. He couldn't afford to fail this class, but he still had this funny feeling about this guy and he wasn't sure if he wanted any more help from him or not.   
Eventually the need for help won over when they’d walked up to Daryl’s apartment door. 

“Might need some help.” He said then. 

Jesus perked up at that and looked at him with those big eyes of his.   
“Great!” He smiled. “I’m free now if you’re not too tired for company.” 

Daryl stopped and turned around to look at him, pondering at it for a few minutes. He was tired, but he really wanted to have the poetry shit over and done with.

“Only if you’re up for it, we can meet up any other time.” He said, starting to back away a little.

“Nah, today’s fine.” Daryl said and turned around to unlock the door.   
“S’not like I have anythin’ better ta do anyway.” 

Once he’d unlocked the door he held the door open for Jesus to enter the narrow hallway. It barely fitted both of them at the same time, and Daryl could feel the heat from Jesus body radiate from how close they were standing against each other. 

After a few awkward moments in the hallway, Daryl lead Jesus over to the beaten up sofa by the wall. 

“So what’s the poetry assignment?” Jesus asked as Daryl brought his computer to life. 

“Apparently I have ta write four pages about famous poets.” Daryl grumbled and showed Jesus the mail his teacher sent him. 

“Right!” Jesus said, smiling brightly at the other man. Daryl got monetary mesmerized by how Jesus eyes seemed to shine with a light of their own in the dimly lit room when he smiled.   
“I won’t say I’m a expert on poetry, or poets for that matter, but I know enough to be at some help!” He said, bringing Daryl back to here and now. 

“What do ya think I should do then?” Daryl asked, opening up a blank slate on word. 

“You can easily find some information about the poets of your choice on Internet, so the first thing we have to do is chose which poets you want to write about!” Jesus said, flipping through a few pages in one of the heavier poetry books he’d picked out for Daryl. 

“I know who Shakespeare is.” Daryl said quietly. 

“Great! Let’s put him in there!” Jesus said, looking up from the book.   
“I think we should have Emily Dickinson as a choice too!” 

“Right!” Daryl answered absentmindedly as he typed in the names of the poets on the list.

******

After about an hour they’d listed up four poets and wrote down some random information about each one of them, even going as far as listing up some of their most famous works.

“We’re still missing one page!” Daryl groaned, falling back into the sofa with a huff.   
He reached for his pack of cigarettes, itching for one really badly. 

“I know it’s your apartment and everything, and I’m not one for telling people what to do in their own homes, but I really don’t like it when people smoke inside.” Jesus said quietly, watching Daryl’s hand as he reached for the pack. 

Daryl looked at him, his eyes looked sad, almost scared as they were glued to Daryl’s hand. 

“Alright.” He said and retrieved his hand, figuring he could smoke later when he was alone. He really should cut back anyway, given he might not have a job to go to in the morning.   
Grimacing once again at the memory of the fight with Spencer he looked back at Jesus again. His eyes were still sad, but he seemed relieved and thankful too. 

“Well,” Jesus said, breaking the tensed silence between them. “We could always read one poem and make our own interpretation of it!” 

“You have anyone in mind?” Daryl asked, actually thinking it was a pretty good idea. 

“Sure!” Jesus said, flipping through some pages in the book again, until he found what he was looking for and showed it to Daryl.  
“The Raven by Edgar Allan Poe.” 

Daryl took the book from Jesus and read the poem.  
Once he was done he put the book down on the sofa between them, pondering through what he’d just read. 

“I think he’s sad and the Raven is his conscience or somethin’.” He said.   
“I didn’t understand half of what it was about, but I think he’s arguing with himself over somethin’ and he’s slowly going insane.” 

“Sounds interesting.” Jesus said, smiling at him again. “You should write it down.” 

“Aren’t ya supposed to tell me if I’m right or somethin’?” He asked and leaned over to his computer. 

“No. This is you’re assignment not mine.” Jesus said and grabbed the book again.   
“Besides, there’s no right or wrong in poetry, we all see it differently. Just like art or looking up at clouds. You might see a banana but I see a dog chasing its take.” 

Daryl raised his brow and gazed over at Jesus from the corner of his eye before he started typing his interpretation of the Raven, actually feeling pretty good over his work so far, realizing it was mostly because of the man sitting next to him. 

******

Daryl closed the lid on his laptop when he was done, thinking he could look over it in the morning.   
He rubbed his tired eyes and looked over at the clock by the laptop and read 9,35 pm, no fucking shit he was tired! 

He looked over at the man still sitting and reading with the heavy book resting on his lap.   
“Ya hungry?” Daryl asked, making Jesus look over at him, then over at the clock. 

“Shit!” He breathed when he too realized how late it had gotten.   
“Thanks, but I really should get home.” He said, setting the book on the coffee table and got up from the sofa. 

“Right.” Daryl said, surprised that he actually felt a pang of sadness by Jesus going home and not relief. 

“But this was fun though!” Jesus said as he started walking out to the hallway, Daryl got up and followed him to the door.   
“I’d love to do it again. Doesn’t even have to be us doing homework together, we could just, you know, hang out!” 

“Yea, sure.” Daryl agreed. And he really did. Again, he was surprised that he actually wanted to see the other man again.   
Maybe he wasn’t all that bad, the strange man who called himself Jesus? 

”I left my phone number inside the book I’ve been reading.” He said then with a wink. ”Give me a call!” 

With that he opened the door and left.   
Leaving Daryl stunned in the dark hallway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 5 is almost finished and will be posted soon! :)


	5. In the head of a hippie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a little look at Jesus childhood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to make a chapter about Jesus background, much like I did with Daryl in the beginning of this story. 
> 
> It's a quite dark chapter. Just thought I'd warn you.  
> Hope you'll enjoy it anyway.

Jesus childhood hadn’t been the easiest one, but he doubted he’d had the worst one. 

His father had died shortly after hed been born. So he didn’t have any memories of him, bu this mother had told him a great deal about him. Like how they’d met at a Rolling Stones concert and that he had proposed outside a convenient store, offering her a doughnut because he’d been too poor to give her an actual ring at the time.  
He’d loved to hear her talk about him, it had made him more real in a way. 

His father had worked as a store clerk and had been shot down one night due to an armed robbery gone wrong.  
The robber hadn’t meant to kill him, he had claimed he hadn’t know the gun had been loaded. 

 

Jesus was seven years old when his mother lost her job as a nurse, due to financial cuts, making her and twenty other nurses without a job.  
After months trying to find another job without success and bills piling up to no end, she got desperate to find a way to support herself and Jesus. Finding no other option, she went for the streets.  
She never told Jesus what she did for a living, she never had to, he just knew, somehow.

When she was away every night, their next door neighbor, Mrs Jones watched Jesus.  
He didn’t dislike her, but he didn’t like her either.  
Mrs Jones was a chain smoking 75- year old lady.  
Her skin had taken a strange yellowish color, probably due to her smoking since she was eleven.  
She didn’t have any teeth left in her mouth and she always smelled of menthol cigarettes and cat food. 

Mrs Jones used to sit in the kitchen, smoking her menthols when Jesus sat in the living room watching tv.  
The stench from the smoke used to make him nauseous, but he got used to it after a few hours.  
In the beginning he’d asked Mrs Jones if he could open a window, she’d looked at him like he was an idiot and said:  
“I don’t want to let the pigeons in.” And went back to her cigarette.

He never asked again after that. 

******

When Jesus was around eight or nine his mother had been away all night and almost all day, it wasn’t something she used to do. She always got home at the crack of dawn at the latest.  
But this time she’d been away for a solid 24 hours.  
Jesus started to get a little worried about her, but chose not to think about it too much: “she’ll be home soon.” He said to himself as worry churned inside his belly. 

He could here Mrs Jones light up one more of her disgusting menthols in the kitchen as she fiddled with the toaster, making a snack for him.  
He wasn’t really hungry, the worry inside his gut eating away all his appetite. 

He heard Mrs Jones cough once. And then again.  
Coughing wasn’t unusual for Mrs Jones – she did it all the time – but this time it sounded different, wet and hollow at the same time. 

She coughed again and as she started the coughing didn’t seem to stop! 

Jesus ran into the kitchen, finding Mrs Jones sitting on her knees on the floor coughing up blood on the floor.  
He grabbed the nearest rag he could find and tried to wipe away the trickles of blood on her mouth, only to have her cough up more. 

A wet sound could be heard deep inside her chest when she tried to gasp for air. She fell over on the floor as another coughing fit wracked her frail body. Jesus held on to her, trying to keep her from hitting her head on the floor.  
She grabbed hold of Jesus arm, holding it tightly as she stared into his eyes with her wide scared ones. 

“I have to call an ambulance!” Jesus shouted at her, trying to get her to let him go.  
But she wouldn’t let him go. 

Her breathes grew ragged and shallow, and a sickening gurgling sound could be heard from deep inside her chest every time she breathed in.  
Jesus knew he had to take her to a hospital, but the vice grip she held him in prevented him from getting to the phone.  
Where the frail old lady got her strength from he did not know, but he tried to pry himself free from her grip multiple times without success.  
He tried to shout at her to let him go, that she needed an ambulance. But she never let him go.  
She kept on staring at him with her terrified eyes. 

She died there.  
Jesus had to watch her die on the kitchen floor.  
He saw the light go out in her eyes, heard the last gurgling breaths she took, felt her arm go slack as the pressure on his arm disappeared. 

******

His mother never got home that day. One of the paramedics had asked him where his mother was when they had come and collected Mrs Jones limp body.  
He didn’t give him an answer, he just sat there and watched as they zipped the bag containing Mrs Jones and put her on the stretcher. 

The paramedic had asked him again, telling him that they would bring him with them to wait at the hospital.  
They had said that his mother could come get him there later, and again he didn’t answer, he didn’t have an answer to give them. He didn’t know where his mother was, nor how to contact her. 

When he got older one of his mothers former “colleges” told him that one of his mothers costumers had gotten to brutal with her and had choked her to death by accident.  
That story did haunt him a long while in his dreams after he’d heard it.

******

When the police had arrived at the hospital he’d known she was dead. He’d felt it in his gut somehow.  
He didn’t cry, he was far to numb by then.  
He did cry later, at her funeral when it really dawned on him she was never coming back, that she was really gone. 

******

He got shipped around a lot after his mothers death.  
From one group home to the other.  
Some of them was really good, and others plain out horrible. 

He slacked off a lot in school, mostly because he never stayed in one place long enough to actually learn anything. And when he did stay long enough he was too fed up with everything to focus, so he just didn’t give a damn.  
That’s when he discovered books, they gave him a place to hide, to get away from everything!  
Books didn’t judge, didn’t tell him what to feel or what to do.  
Books allowed him to be who he wanted to be for a while. 

It wasn’t until he was in his early twenties he let all of his bitterness go.  
One of his boyfriends at the time had scored some coke, and had asked Jesus if he wanted to try some.  
Jesus wasn’t much for the stuff, but wasn’t one to turn down if presented to him. So he snorted a rather good sized line of the white powder on the table in front of him. 

The last thing he remembered was his boyfriend asking if he was okay and then yelling at someone to call an ambulance. 

Jesus had been lucky that day, someone had tampered with the drugs, making him get a really bad reaction from it that nearly costed him his life.  
That was when he decided to turn his life around.  
He ditched his friends and broke up with his boyfriend.  
Wanting to break all the connections with his former life and start on a clean slate. 

******

He had found the job at the library by chance.  
He’d stumbled in there one day to get away from a sudden downpour and saw a note at the desk that they were hiring. 

He wasn’t exactly happy with his life, but he was alive, and he would make the most of it. 


End file.
